A Missing Piece
by PixelEm
Summary: "They didn't suspect that anything was wrong until he stopped coming to work. He was always there to help them smile through tough times. Now, it was their turn to help him." (One-shot - In Memory of Stephen Hillenburg)


**DISCLAIMER: I don't own** _ **SpongeBob SquarePants**_ **or anything associated with it. It belongs to Nickelodeon and the extraordinary ocean man who created my favorite childhood cartoon~**

 **In memory of Stephen Hillenburg**

 **August 21st, 1964 - November 26, 2018**

They didn't suspect that anything was wrong until he stopped coming to work.

But even then, nobody had believed it was anything serious. In spite of his constant desire to snag that elusive perfect record, SpongeBob had still taken the occasional day off from his duties at the Krusty Krab over the years. He'd had to take them for totally valid reasons, too; when he'd broken both of his thumbs, when he'd come down with a nasty case of the suds, when he'd been in recovery from sleep deprivation and the Krabby Patty hallucinations it'd caused, when he'd become so obsessed with the idea that he'd forgotten the pickles meant for the slimy Bubble Bass's order that he couldn't even try frying up any patties anymore. His fellow Krusty Krewmates immediately recalled those days, upon first noticing the little sponge's absence.

Mr. Krabs figured that he might be sick again, but told Squidward that even though he wasn't too worried, he still couldn't help wondering why the boy hadn't called to let them know beforehand.

Squidward wasn't too worried, either; quite the opposite, actually. That much was obvious by the uncharacteristically bright smile he kept on his face his entire shift at the register, by his amiable tone of voice as he took orders from very surprised-looking customers. But eventually that surprise faded once inductive reasoning and common knowledge sunk in; Squidward Tentacles, who was known for being more of a crab than Mr. Krabs could ever be and hated his square yellow neighbor's youthful optimism with a passion, hadn't seen SpongeBob all day, not even on his morning stroll to work, so of course he would be unusually cheerful today. He was just enjoying the silence in the air that his coworker's squeaky laugh had once occupied.

Even with his best fry cook out of commission, Mr. Krabs couldn't just turn away all of the hungry customers who'd shown up that day, so he abandoned his office and manned the grill himself. Just for today. SpongeBob would be back tomorrow, nothing to worry about.

Everything Mr. Krabs put out _was_ still delicious, regardless – none of the customers complained about burned fries or shakes nor did they speed out of the building in boatloads, which was a good sign. But they weren't speaking up about how satisfactory their meals were either. For the most part, everyone who ate was silent, eating only out of necessity or habit, not because they were searching for something particularly rich in flavor. The way Mr. Krabs cooked was just… something. Neither good nor bad. It just… existed. That was it. Nothing special.

But some of them remained optimistic despite this. One fish mother, as she and her son left after a quick lunch, smiled down at her child and told him that it was only for today. SpongeBob would surely be back to man the grill tomorrow. Surely.

He didn't show up tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next day.

After he'd been gone for five days straight, then Mr. Krabs – and more of the little sponge's good friends – began to worry quite a bit.

Mr. Krabs told Squidward how he felt about it as he flipped the patties and greased the fries that morning; he'd usually been rather quiet while working the kitchen for the past few days, but this morning he rambled his mouth off just like SpongeBob himself did. He told Squidward how worried and actually scared he was for the boy, how his little moneymaker had never willingly taken _this_ much time off of work before, the lad hadn't called him _once_ , he hadn't had any contact with him since last week.

Squidward was only listening with half an ear, and even that was far too much for him. He definitely wasn't in a good mood today; he slouched in his boat with his nose stuck in the latest issue of _Fancy Living Digest_ , but rather than simply looking bored like he always did, he wore the kind of scowl that warned he might bite just somebody's head off if they dared get near him. Krabs's chatter was only reminding him of his annoying yellow neighbor; of course he wouldn't be in a good mood.

Then the doors swung open with such force that Mr. Krabs and Squidward flinched in unison. Both of them wondered aloud if it was SpongeBob, but they couldn't have been more wrong.

Instead, two more familiar faces had entered the building – Sandy Cheeks and Patrick Star – who were now making a beeline for Squidward's boat.

Before Squidward could roll his eyes or groan or begrudgingly ask to take their orders, Sandy snapped at him to tell them exactly where SpongeBob was, neither she nor Patrick had heard from him since last week, and ; _Squidward_ was the only one besides Krabs who actually worked with the little square dude, so _he_ must know everything.

Mr. Krabs burst out of the kitchen and hastily explained their side of the story before the two could launch into an argument; they hadn't seen the lad since last week either, not even from a phone call or a written letter.

This information made Patrick, who was already visibly upset, blubber even harder. He'd spent every morning, afternoon, and evening for the past week waiting for his best friend to finally come out of his pineapple, he'd even had several bursts of emotion when he couldn't stand it anymore and started wailing and banging on SpongeBob's front door to make him come outside so that Patrick could see his face again. Patrick had gone days without seeing him before, but those days had never made the poor seastar as distraught as these past five days have; he missed his best friend, he wanted him back so badly, but the sponge hadn't given him a single hint why he wasn't around. Oh, how he missed his best friend.

Sandy, though she hadn't had a reaction quite as severe as his, still empathized with Patrick's sentiments. She'd first realized that something might be up when the little square dude failed to show up to their weekly Texas tea and karate practice date at her Treedome. At first she'd assumed what Mr. Krabs had five days ago, that the sponge had simply caught some virus from the air that he needed to take care of; but then she'd remembered with a jolt that SpongeBob would never just cancel a plan like that without letting her know beforehand. It just wasn't in his nature.

Sandy, as a scientist, had immediately reached the most logical conclusion. After so many years of knowing him, this much Sandy understood as well as she understood that sea critters needed this ocean to breathe: if SpongeBob was doing something that was out of his character, then she needed to be concerned. Worried. Very, _very_ worried.

She'd called his house shellphone and only heard his voicemail. She'd rushed to his house only to find the door locked. She called for him and her voice just echoed off the Conch Street road. She'd run to Patrick and asked him if he knew what in the name of Texas was going on with SpongeBob, and Patrick told her everything he knew and only stopped to catch his breath when he finished.

They'd agreed immediately: this was strange, this was wrong, SpongeBob was holed up in his house and hadn't spoken to either of them for five days straight, they desperately needed to find out what happened to their best-est best friend in Bikini Bottom.

And that shared train of thought was what lead them to the Krusty Krab, and to the only other two sea creatures they could think of who could have any knowledge on the matter.

And now they were here, in the Krusty Krab, and they just found out that even those two other sea creatures were just as lost in the dark as _they_ were.

Upon realizing this, Patrick began to weep once more; what in Neptune's wavy ginger locks had _happened_ to his best friend? was he hurt? was he lost somewhere? somewhere none of them had been before? was he gone forever? would he and Patrick never again go jellyfishing or sing the Goofy Goober theme song or watch exclusive Thursday night openings of the latest _Mermaid Man & Barnacle Boy_ movies together ever again? All of it was too much for the seastar's sensitive heart.

While Sandy put an arm around Patrick's shoulders to calm him down, Mr. Krabs anxiously chewed on the tip of his claw, his eyes darting around as if the answer to their predicament – or even his number one fry cook himself – was hiding in plain sight in the planks of his restaurant.

Then he let his claw fall back to his side as his expression hardened.

He declared in the same gruff sailor voice that his navy buddies knew him for, they needed to find out what was happening. They needed to get into SpongeBob's house and see if their sea sponge buddy was okay.

But right then, before either Sandy or Patrick could even think of responding to Krabs's notion, it was Squidward, who hadn't uttered a word this entire discussion, suddenly threw down his magazine and tossed his tentacles through the water and growled that he _wholeheartedly_ agreed.

To say that Krabs, Sandy, and Patrick were flabbergasted would be an understatement. There probably wasn't a single Bikini Bottomite who didn't know of Squidward's vehement distain for his square neighbor; how could they not know when he took so many opportunities to remind them of it? Whenever he shot his chipper coworker a glare or an eye-roll, or called him on of the many nicknames he'd come up with for him (such as "kelp-for-brains" and "barnacle-headed idiot")? He advertised his dislike so much that many citizens wondered why he hadn't moved away by now.

And, apparently, _Squidward himself_ knew that they all knew, because immediately after he announced that he wanted to figure out what was going on with SpongeBob as much as the sponge's best friends did, he held up a tentacle as if to silence them and said that he knew what they were all thinking, they couldn't think of any reason why he'd want to help the coworker whom he supposedly hated with a burning passion, but he'll have them know that he had a perfectly valid reason why he needed to investigate the sponge's situation.

And it all had to do with SpongeBob's pet snail, Gary.

For the past three nights Squidward had woken up at random intervals to loud plaintive mewing just outside his house. The last three afternoons, he'd spotted several lines of snail trail on his front lawn and in his back garden that he'd needed to hose away. But worst of all, he'd consistently, for the past three mornings, had to pick up and move the Neptune-forsaken animal back onto his master's property because he just would not leave him alone as he bicycled his way to work, almost like he was the little pest's owner and not SpongeBob.

He needed to track down that yellow numbskull, he explained, so that he could tell him what would happen if he didn't keep his eyes on his stupid pet and keep him off of his property. He needed to give that insipid invertebrate a piece of his mind.

Of course, none of SpongeBob's other friends were too happy with what Squidward had said. But they still gave him their approval, asking him to drop by their friend's place after work, then knock on SpongeBob's door enough so that he'd have to come outside and explain what was going on; he needed to be persistent, they'd told Squidward, _that_ was the key.

Squidward scoffed that oh, he'd _definitely_ be persistent alright, which only earned him a seething glare from Sandy. She clenched her fists as if preparing to punch the octopus for his rotten attitude, but Patrick stopped her and told her that he knew for a fact that Squidward didn't hate him or SpongeBob as much as he said he did.

SpongeBob had told him about one time when he and Squidward were delivering a Krabby Patty pizza; SpongeBob had been so excited to make their customer happy, but then, when the customer berated the poor sponge for supposedly "forgetting" the diet Dr. Kelp that he'd never actually ordered, Squidward apparently took one look at his coworker's tear-stained cheeks and then shoved the pizza in the rude fish's face to teach him a lesson, Patrick explained. Plus, he could remember so many times when it looked like Squidward had wanted to sock either him or his yellow buddy in the eye but never actually went through with it, so he knew that Squidward would never actually hurt SpongeBob, despite everything he'd said before.

Sandy wasn't entirely convinced after hearing this, but she still gave Squidward her certified a-okay.

Squidward carried out the plan without a single complaint; once his shift ended at 5:00, he left the building without saying goodbye to his boss and pedaled as fast as he could back to Conch Street, where his irritating neighbor's house sat, right next to his own.

As he rode up the hill he could see their tiny neighborhood just a few blocks away. He could also, despite his average eyesight, still easily spot the current reason for his grouchiness napping in his front yard.

Squidward let out a growl as he pedaled even harder down the hill.

Perhaps he heard the bicycle chains clattering against the wheels, or he felt the force of the water as Squidward came to a screeching halt just beside the walkway; either way, Gary sensed the octopus's presence and snapped awake once he came riding down the main road. Then, as if he'd just had a dose of adrenaline, the little snail sat upright and began slithering his way to his master's grumpy octopus neighbor, letting out a series of loud meows.

Squidward, who grimaced at the first of Gary's cries, was totally prepared to tell the pesky snail off for sleeping in and leaving slime all over his property again, just as he'd done three times this week already – but _this_ time, he didn't. He lost most of his thoughts of doing that once he noticed what Gary was doing; he sat right in front of Squidward, still mewling incessantly, but he was jerking his eyestalks in the direction of SpongeBob's house, as if trying to tell him something.

Now, Squidward knew close to nothing about animals, least of all how to communicate with them, but, if he didn't know any better, he'd say that the little snail was asking him to come with him to SpongeBob's house.

That was already on Squidward's agenda, of course, so he didn't hesitate; he began marching towards his neighbor's house with Gary leading the way at a pace he never would've expected for a sea snail.

First, he pounded his fist against the door and demanded that SpongeBob open up. Then, he stopped, stepped back, watched Gary stand on the very back of his foot and use his mouth to unlock the door. And then they were inside.

The next day Squidward was late to work – quite typical for him; counting his attendance throughout his entire Krusty Krab career, his average on-time arrival percentage only tallied up to 15% overall. These facts didn't calm the rest of SpongeBob's friends' nerves in the slightest. Patrick and Sandy had arrived right when Mr. Krab opened the place up at the usual 9:00 in the morning, and they took turns walking holes into the floorboards as they waited for Squidward's report.

He finally showed up fifteen minutes after opening time. Without hesitation he walked up to the rest of the group and told them that they all needed to go to SpongeBob's house tonight. _All_ of them.

The look on Squidward's face and what he said next convinced them that this was serious:

"He's not okay."

That evening, after closing, Squidward, Patrick, Sandy, and Mr. Krabs all made a beeline for the pineapple house that their absorbent, yellow, porous friend called home.

Along the way, Squidward explained what'd happened the previous night. Gary had let him inside and prodded at his legs to make him head upstairs. He'd opened the door to SpongeBob's bedroom. He saw the sponge himself lying on his back on his bed. When he'd tried to talk to him, Squidward had become so concerned and confused that he knew he couldn't fix this problem on his own – or even figure the problem out.

He told them that Sponge was telling him things that he just couldn't understand for the life of him, but he knew that he was upset, upset about– _something_ , he had no idea what, but he was hoping that, as some of the guy's _actual_ friends, _they_ would know how to handle this.

Their shared anxiety hung over them like a dust cloud.

It seemed as though Gary had been expecting them, since he was sitting just outside the pineapple's front door as if playing lookout, and when he say the group approaching, let out a yowl and began stretching to reach the door handle.

The house's interior looked just as Squidward had described it: nothing out of place, all furniture and personal belongings all accounted for, nothing that suggested there was something wrong except for the lack of lighting. It wasn't "pitch-black" like Squidward had said, but as far as they could see, every single room in the house was dark; it made the place feel empty, eerie.

They walked up the stairs at the same pace, nobody wanting to take the lead. Nobody made a sound, to the point where it seemed as though they were collectively holding their breaths to keep from disturbing the house's already-unsettled atmosphere.

When they opened the door to Sponge's bedroom, they saw that this time, it looked almost exactly like how Squidward had described.

The bedroom was just as dark as the rest of the house. Seashell-patterned blinds had been pulled over every window. Gary's newspaper bedding looked old and crumpled, and the little snail's treat bowl had been picked clean and shoved against the wall as if Gary had pushed it there in a vain attempt to dig out every last imaginary morsel.

And right _there_ , in the lonesome bed, they saw him: the cube-shaped mass huddled underneath his flower-printed duvet, lying on his side in a hunched angular half-moon so that his head didn't even rest on his pillow.

Their friend could have been dead for all they knew, he was so still, apart from his sides slowly rising and falling with his breathing.

They'd each taken one step into the room when Sandy stopped them. She whispered that they needed to remember what she'd explained earlier, that she certainly knew that they all had a million questions burning their tongues, _but_ , the little guy is probably still upset, so they shouldn't overwhelm him. They needed to approach him with a casual aura, letting him know that they'd been so worried for him and wanted to help him as much as they could without losing control of their emotions. Patrick, Squidward, and Mr. Krabs all nodded and yes-ma'amed her in reply.

Then Mr. Krabs gently called his fry cook's name and flicked the light switch on, and SpongeBob flinched and curled even further into himself.

Sandy send the boys her message once more, but through her eyes: _DEFINITELY_ don't overwhelm him with your emotions.

Krabs turned the overhead light to a dimmer setting, then cleared his throat and gave SpongeBob a warm hello as he walked over to his bedside. The others followed his lead, each giving their friend a variant: Hey SpongeBob, Howdy there partner, …Hey there Sponge.

SpongeBob didn't respond to any of them.

A small awkward silence hung in the air until Patrick blurted that he'd missed him so much, and Sandy put a paw on Patrick's shoulder and told SpongeBob in a far calmer voice that they all missed him, they'd all got worried when they stopped seeing him, but Neptune curse them all if they weren't pleased as punch to see that he wasn't hurt or lost or anything like that.

SpongeBob didn't acknowledge either of them. A tiny jet of bubbles streamed out from under his covers as he let out a big sigh.

Sandy shot Squidward another glare when she saw him clench his fists, and so he took in a quick breath to quell his frustration before he asked SpongeBob very bluntly what he'd been doing for the past five days, what possibly could've happened that would make him shut himself inside without giving them so much as a heads-up the whole time.

Another silence ensued. SpongeBob's friends all took in a breath to question him further, but when the section of the duvet around his head rustled suddenly, they hesitated.

And then SpongeBob took in a deep breath of his own, held it for a few seconds – and then released it as he shook his head under the covers once again.

Mr. Krabs furrowed his brow and barked at the lad in a firm but still gentle voice to please speak up; Sandy added quickly that they only wanted to help. Gary crawled onto the bed and mewed his agreement.

SpongeBob sighed again, hard, so that it sounded more like a huff.

His friends exchanged glances with each other, their cluelessness etched into their faces. They'd never seen him act like this before, which was not only concerning, but actually quite scary; he normally expressed his emotions in very simple yet predictable ways, especially when he was upset, so his friends could usually guess correctly how to cheer him up (it helped that he tended to get upset over tiny things that anyone could fix with relative ease, like a stubbed toe or an accidental Krabby Patty on the floor). But he wasn't crying over spilled milk right now; he'd locked himself in his house, refused to talk to the ones he loved the most for five days straight, and _now_ , he didn't even want to look at them, let alone tell them what'd happened to put him in this state. It truly was a terrifying thought, to all of them; how do you cheer a predictable person up when they're acting totally unexpectedly?

But then the bed creaked, and Sponge's friends snapped their attention straight back to him.

SpongeBob was turning, flipping onto his back; he kept his duvet in his hands' tight grip, preventing it from slipping off and revealing his face.

He took a moment – and then he pushed himself up and lay his head on his pillow.

Of all the things they'd seen in their lives, Patrick, Sandy, Krabs, Gary, and even Squidward all agreed: there couldn't be anything more heartbreaking than seeing that despondent look on their friend's face.

He wasn't crying. He wasn't shuddering in panic. But he was frowning. His cheeks were relaxed as if it took too much effort to smile or grimace. His eyes had lost their bright, youthful luster; their sky blue irises looked dull, like all of his childlike energy had been drained from them.

His friends all thought they could be looking at a complete stranger.

SpongeBob stared at the ceiling, not even giving his friends a passing glance. He told them in a quiet voice so alien for him, that he wasn't sure _how_ to tell them about what'd happened:

"I just… I don't know how to explain it… I don't think you'd understand…"

It took everything in Squidward to keep his voice level as he snapped that this was getting ridiculous, why couldn't he explain it? What made him think they wouldn't understand it. They've all spent so much energy worrying about him and getting even a _hint_ about what's been going on with him, so why can't he just can't come out and say it? It can't be any worse than anything else he cries abou–

Sandy hissed at him before he could finish that sentence.

Patrick, apparently oblivious to the tension occurring beside him, placed his hand on the lump in the duvet where his best friend's own hand lay and told him in a trembling voice that he didn't want to see him like this anymore, he just wanted things to go back to normal, he wanted to catch jellyfish and eat Patties and sing and laugh with him again, he wanted it so badly that he didn't care if didn't understand, he just wanted to know so that he could help him and finally have his best friend back.

Mr. Krabs agreed, putting a claw over SpongeBob's other hand. The seastar was right, he said, they all felt the same way, they all just wanted their matey back, and how did he know if they wouldn't understand? He just needed to tell them to see if they really didn't get how he was feeling, explain it the best he could.

SpongeBob kept his eyes on the ceiling, but they flitted from one twisted rope knot embedded in the wood to another, as though he was contemplating what Krabs had said.

Finally, after contemplating enough, he let out a breath and sat up, nodding at his bedsheets. If they really wanted to know, he said, then he would tell them:

"I… Last week, I… I felt something that just made me so sad… I– I felt like I could sense someone disappearing from the world…"

He held up a hand before any of them could ask him the obvious question – _"What in Neptune's name is THAT supposed to mean?"_ – and went on to explain:

"I know that that sounds weird, I really do. But… it really did happen. I just woke up and got ready for work when… I just got this feeling that someone had just gone… I don't even know if it was a person, it could have been a thing for all I know. But I just got this feeling that that happened, and I couldn't stop thinking about what or– or _who_ it was, and… and it made me so sad, I couldn't stop crying, and… I got so sad that I couldn't go to work. That only made me sadder – I can't just _stay away_ from the Krusty Krab! I love it way too much for that! – but… that feeling I got had made me so sad, I didn't have the energy to pick up my spatula, so I just… thought I'd stay here until the feeling went away.

"But… then it didn't. I just kept feeling sad about it, even though _I_ was just as confused as you guys are. I still have no idea why it happened to me, I don't even know if it's exactly what I thought it was. But that's just what it felt like, like someone I knew had died… which might be why I'm still here right now, I kept waiting for the thoughts and the feelings to go away… but they never did. I just kept thinking about it and trying to figure it out, but then it just made me start thinking about what actually happened, if someone lost something super special to them, or lost their best friend in the world, and that made me think about what if that would happen to _me_ , and I just got so sad that I couldn't even get out of bed. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to help whoever it was who'd lost their special one, all I wanted was to cheer them up somehow, but then I remembered that I didn't even know who _they_ were, I didn't know where they could be, and I just couldn't stand that idea, that someone out there was super sad but I couldn't help them at all, when all I wanted to do was help, it just made me even more sad… I don't think I've ever been this sad in my life.

"I didn't tell any of you about it because I wasn't sure what you'd think of it. I didn't get it myself, and I didn't think you guys would either. But I also just wanted to protect you guys. I could see that everything I was feeling and thinking about wasn't going away any time soon, and you've all been so happy lately that I… I didn't want to ruin it for you. I didn't want to bother you and make you all sad about something that didn't even make sense to me. I didn't want what happened to me happen to all of you. I wanted to stay inside my house and figure it out on my own and cheer myself up so that none of you would worry about me. But… I can see now that that didn't work. I'm so sorry I worried you guys… but… that's really what happened."

When SpongeBob finished his speech, none of his friends had anything to say to it. They simply couldn't think of anything, and how could they? After hearing that?

Eventually, Mr. Krabs verbalized what everyone was surely thinking: what he was saying was that he'd _felt_ something, like someone somewhere had lost something important, and he was upset because he couldn't do anything about it? He was sad because of that sudden "feeling" he'd got.

SpongeBob's head creaked up and down in another nod.

This revelation rendered even Squidward speechless; he couldn't stay frustrated with his coworker or spit one of his many sarcastic quips at him, he was still trying to make sense of everything he'd just heard.

Sandy, after thinking on it for a bit, gently asked SpongeBob to clarify what he'd said for her; basically, five days ago, he'd been having a normal morning when he'd suddenly felt like– _sensed_ that something, somewhere in the entire world, somebody was suffering and hurt, because they'd lost someone or something that they couldn't stand living without – and he knew all of this even though he hadn't witnessed any of it, he didn't even know _who_ it was who was suffering, but he just knew because he'd _sensed_ it?

SpongeBob gave her his now-expected wordless answer.

Squidward seemed to be talking more to himself than the others when he announced that this didn't make any sense whatsoever, how does something like that even happen? How do you suddenly "sense" that something went wrong on the other side of the world?

Mr. Krabs furrowed his brow as he agreed with his cashier. It sounded to him like an event you'd sooner find in a fantasy novel than in their logical, magicless reality. But he knew

that the lad couldn't be lying either, not if he'd become _this_ devastated from the event.

He asked Sandy if any of those scientific theories she'd been studying could explain this, but she just shrugged and shook her head. As much as she didn't like to admit it, _this_ was one case where even _she_ couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Then SpongeBob piped up and reiterated that even _he_ was bewildered by it:

"…But…. But I know I felt something…. I-It was so strong… I-It… It was like I was suddenly feeling exactly what that person was feeling… I felt like I'd suddenly lost an important piece of myself, like… like when my house got eaten by nematodes, or when you fired me for a nickel M-Mr. Krabs… or like if… i-if my Mom or my Dad or, or even if G-G-Grandma died…"

SpongeRobert Kenny SquarePants, known to his friends and his fellow Bikini Bottomites as just SpongeBob, was now crying. His fingers clutched the bedsheets in an iron grip, his shoulders trembled with his ragged breathing, the tears slid past his cheeks and down his nose and onto the duvet with the flower print that he loved so much.

"…e-even though _nothing_ like that had happened, I-I… I-I just suddenly _felt_ like it did…! A-And… th-that made me think that I w-was j-j-just… j-just feeling what somebody else was feeling… I-I had no idea who they were, but it… it all just makes me so _sad_ …

"I…. I-I really want to help them, but… b-but…"

His voice had grown so shaky that he couldn't bear to continue.

Silence fell over the six friends. None of them looked at each other – they had their full collective attention on the little sponge's weeping – but somehow they all knew that they were thinking the exact same thing: what were they supposed to do _now_? They'd been predicting that they may witness another one of their friend's 'episodes' as they'd often called them, but _this_ episode? None of their previous experiences had prepared them for _this_.

Then Patrick said in a soft voice that he knew what SpongeBob was talking about. He remembered how he'd felt like that himself, he knew exactly what that felt like; he'd felt it when he'd thought SpongeBob had permanently transformed into that weird 'normal' person, when he'd lost him as a friend after his head had been replaced with brain coral – most of all, when he'd first lost his big sister Sam to the tides when he was just a baby. He'd lost the most important things in his life in those moments; he'd lost what he loved the most, believed for even a short while that he might never get back his missing pieces.

The still-fresh memories acted as a trigger, and within seconds Patrick was sniffling just as hard as his best friend was.

Before anyone could say or do anything further, he leaned over the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around his best friend.

He mumbled to him that he was sorry, but he just couldn't stand seeing him cry like this anymore.

The others watched in silence for a few moments – then, one by one, they each joined Patrick and hugged their spongy friend as if he'd float away if they didn't.

Because they all got it; they knew now what SpongeBob had meant when he explained how he'd felt last week. Patrick's recollections brought their own memories to the forefronts of their minds, reminding them of when _they'd_ felt that way.

Sandy was the first to follow Patrick's lead – _Sandy_ , logical, scientific Sandy was the one who furrowed her brow and set her jaw and told the others "Who cares if there's a reason? That don't matter now. Whatever done happened, it's got him sadder than a coyote with no pack." before she walked over and put her own arms around SpongeBob's shoulders, nuzzled her air helmet into his side.

Not much time went by before the rest of SpongeBob's friends did as she did. Their own experiences with that feeling – like an essential part of your life had suddenly disappeared without warning – drew them towards their friend, infusing them with the type of empathy that made you wish you could ward away any and all of your dear friend's suffering. And it all stemmed from their own memories of that feeling.

For Mr. Krabs, it was when he'd believed he couldn't save SpongeBob and Patrick from those deadly hooks in time, and when he'd discovered that some snobbish jockfish had left his dearest daughter Pearl beached on the surface island's sands.

For Gary, it was when he'd mistakenly run away from home and realized how much he truly missed his owner and when their pineapple had rolled toward the edge of a cliff and he'd had the brief, horrifying thought that he was about to lose his beloved master forever.

Even Squidward couldn't help sympathizing with the neighbor who usually annoyed him to no end; he knew how he felt just as much as the others did, from when he'd believed that he'd stay trapped all alone in that bizarre blank void for the rest of his life, when he'd actually thought for a few moments that he'd seriously hurt both SpongeBob and Patrick just from touching that box they'd been playing in – but even more than those still, to this day he felt that way whenever reminded of his beloved mother's untimely death. He knew _exactly_ how SpongeBob felt.

But even with these revelations, his friends all seemed totally oblivious to the memory that they all shared, the memory of that feeling that they'd each formed just within the past week:

Their memory of how it had felt without SpongeBob for the past five days. It'd just felt so _wrong_ without the happy little sponge around, like the universe would split in half if they didn't bring him back in time. He was one of the, if not _the_ , most important parts of their lives – without his relentless optimism, indiscriminate friendliness, and ever-present smile…. well, they didn't know what they would do. He was just that important to them.

Who knew what had really happened? Who knew how he'd sensed something on the other side of the world? How he'd felt the gravity of someone's sadness so strongly that he'd felt like _he_ was suffering just as much as they were? If there _was_ a reasonable explanation for it out there, none of them cared. They just wanted to hang on tight to their friend like they would lose him forever lest they let go.

He was always there to help them smile through tough times. Now, it was their turn to help him.

 **Aaaaaand,** _ **there**_ **it is, my very first SpongeBob fic is complete! I meant to get this out last week, but… I also severely underestimated how long this thing was going to be, at first I thought it was only going to be about 3,000 words, but… yeah, but, in any case, it's finally done! I hope you all enjoyed it, and I hope I portrayed everyone well. :)**

 **(Also, for everyone wondering, the part about Squidward's mother being dead is a reference to the Broadway musical, I couldn't help referencing that beautiful show [and I think makes a lot more sense in the show's context, since octopus mothers tend to die shortly after their offspring hatch].)**

 **But, based on that dedication at the beginning, you can probably guess why I decided to write this. I'm supposed to be in a bit of a fanfiction hiatus right now so that I can focus on my original projects and personal life, but I couldn't go on without writing a tribute to Hillenburg, one of the most influential people I've ever seen in my life.**

 **When I got the news last Monday, it felt like a slap to the face; I've never legitimately cried about a celebrity's death until now. It's** _ **still**_ **devastating to me that he's dead, and at such a young age; Hillenburg was such a passionate, friendly, funny man, and I can't imagine what the world or even my life would look like if he'd never existed.**

 **I've been watching SpongeBob for as long as I can remember, ever since I was a toddler. I still remember how, every day after school, I would rush to turn my TV on to Nickelodeon to see if my favorite cartoon about a happy little sea sponge was on. It, along with Pixar Disney and Dreamworks, is what sparked my love for animation, and it's just one of many reasons why I'm a huge advocate for quality hand-drawn animation. The humor still makes me laugh just as hard today as it did when I was a kid, and all the characters are just so memorable and lovable that I couldn't help wanting to spend as much time with them as possible.**

 **And I'd be lying if I said that the show hasn't shaped a lot of myself and how my life has gone; I was always striving to be just like SpongeBob, living in the moment, smiling or laughing whenever I had the chance, making the most of what I had and helping my friends whenever they were down, and, most of all, never ever forgetting how to be a child and have fun and love life even when it threw you a rough curveball. Even when I stopped watching the show for a bit after season 6, I always kept all of that in mind and lived by those rules every day as best as I could. It sounds kind of cheesy, but really, I don't care; whenever I see that adorable yellow sponge's smile, I feel like I can take on the entire world. I feel like I can take on any of the stress or BS that life throws at me. In so many ways, SpongeBob has saved my life.**

 **I would never be where I am today if it wasn't for Stephen and his wonderful creations. He had such an amazing imagination that struck a chord with so many people across every age group, for almost twenty years now. We will not let a man with a legacy such as that go forgotten by history.**

 **Thank you so much, Stephen. I know you're very happy with what you've done in the world, and I hope you're proud of the wonderful gifts you gave to the world :')**

 **~Pixel**


End file.
